


Sansa

by DottyDot



Series: How It Could Happen [10]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jonsa, pre war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: He placed his hand above hers on the tree, before he could touch her, she had moved again. He searched for the unwritten words her fingers left behind, meanings he wanted to decipher.





	Sansa

Sansa stood beneath the heart tree, its red leaves dripping down into the snow the same way fire licks up into the sky. 

Her fingers traced the memories pressed into its aged rings, the white bark holding every generation's prayers secret. 

Yet Jon thought surely the words of the Starks gone before spoke to her, that here she was one with them all, their blood rising like water from the roots into the branches, coloring those leaves the same color as her braids, the wisps that fell to her cheek, blood against snow.

"Sansa?"

She did not respond, her hands searching the tree for some knowledge forbidden to them, trailing around knots, rough and smooth patches.  

"Sansa?"

"I feel father when I come here. It's the only place I see him alive, instead of him after--" she caressed a scar, the remnant of some foolish Stark boy swinging his sword instead of offering prayers. "I hear him here. It is the only place untouched by what followed."

He had neared the tree now, close enough to know if she hadn't been crying, she'd struggled not to. 

"Childhood is so short, isn't it, Jon? Long and just deep enough to give you dreams before you’re jarred awake."

He stepped even closer, close enough that he could reach her. "Sansa--"

She did not look at him, instead she moved to the side of the tree, her fingers trailing behind her, their soft paleness disturbing the sharp white bark of the tree, drawing his eyes to the invisible path they followed.

"My childhood ended with the stroke of a sword. It took the waking up to make me realize you had never had one at all."

He placed his hand above hers on the tree, before he could touch her, she had moved again. He searched for the unwritten words her fingers left behind, meanings he wanted to decipher. Sansa was always an enigma to him, not because she would not give her opinion, because she gave so much of herself, and he could not do the same. How could she have lived through what she had and still trust anyone? She certainly could not trust him now. 

She continued moving away from him, her cloak dragging through the snow, and he followed her because he could not do otherwise. He had followed her to her solar to speak of the Dragon Queen and could not explain himself for fear that admitting to his actions would transform him in her eyes, that he would be another Littlefinger, or a true bastard, even though she had insisted he wasn't. 

Now he knew what he had done. Before he had nothing to lose by offering himself to Daenerys, but after Sam and Bran's words, he realized what he had lost, that no one could despise him using the Dragon Queen more than Sansa, a woman who had been so used herself. Even if she could overlook it, how could he ask for her help now, after what he had done, after what he had become.

Everything was at risk, their temporary alliances so fragile a word would break them. The throne, before of no consequence to him, now another burden he must carry. And yet, he could not help but notice how Sansa's eyes no longer turned to his. Her hands no longer reached for him. Littlefinger was gone, but other Lords followed in her shadow now, basking in attention and orders they would have rebelled against had they come from him.

He could not see her face or hair now, she was on the other side of the tree, her fingers slipping away. In a state of desperation, afraid of losing what he had never had, he placed his hand on hers before she was lost to him completely.

She stilled beneath his hand, turning back to him, looking at him, and now he wished she wouldn't. it was more painful to see her pain than he could have possibly imagined. She had been a breath he always failed to catch, and now he had her and was so frightened by it he fought the urge to exhale her. He looked into her eyes and knew he had never had a choice but to pull her in and be possessed.

Her fingers were cool against his hand, her cheeks and nose red where she was bitten by the frigid air. He stepped forward and pulled her to him "Sa--"

She shook her head, "I cannot pretend I am not angry, that I am not hurt," even as she said the dreaded words her fingers turned and took his hand, her other hand joining it. His palm became the new canvas for her to trace, painting the calloused pads, the small scars, whatever else that was on her mind that she would not say, except she was determined to say it.

"I came here because it is the only place she has not come." It was not a reproach, simply an admittance of her own pain. Pain that she could not be in her home, the resting place of her family, and know that she was safe. She had to leave the stone walls and come to the trees. 

He nodded.

"Bran told me. I knew it was true as soon as he spoke. Father would have never--" She stopped, realizing she did not know what would come of Jon's own actions, not wanting to unwittingly condemn him. "You are a King again," she tried to smile, a feeble upturn of lips that could not last. She raised her hand, hesitated, then lowered it, taking hold of a dark curl. "Twice a king and still no crown. What are we to do with you, Jon Snow?"

Her eyes widened at the last words, but he had smiled. In spite of her teasing, he was the same to her. He allowed his hand to run down her outstretched arm, taking her elbow, he waited, and she made no move to resist, so he lightly pulled her toward him. 

"You've bedded a dragon;  _you_  are a dragon." She said, a slight stumble in her step as she came to him.

"Sansa." He said it as if what she said was ridiculous, and she knew it was. He may have slept with one, but he would never be one.

"I know, I know." She curled her hands together against his chest, his hands firmly holding her close to him. 

He had come looking for her, a grieved man, a penitent man, needing her to rectify it all somehow, but there was no tracing this thread and finding the knot that untangled would release them all. They were caught, one mistake leading to more, and what could she do? Ah, but she knew what they must do. She unclasped her hands and pressed her palms to his chest. In spite of the fur and layers of clothing, she felt his heart beat beneath her fingers. She could not help but smile that she affected him so. "Since you were with a dragon, does that mean you've been kissed by fire?"

"Sansa!"

She had scandalized him that time. "Jon?" Her eyes widened in faux innocence, a new and delightful expression, but not nearly as delightful as when she moved completely into his arms, standing with her chest nearly touching his. His arms enclosed her, tightly, not wasting the opportunity to hold her when it was provided.

"You know, the Free Folk say I have been kissed by fire. Tormund said it means I’m lucky. It’s such a pretty saying.” Her face was very close to his. 

" _Sansa_ " it was a low warning, but it did not stop her from coming even closer. "It is a pretty saying, Jon, but I want--"

She was too close, he had come to find her, seeking her advice as she had often been so right before, but she confused him, not that he minded, he had gotten used to that. 

Her nose was so close to his, her blue eyes blinding him, he could not turn from her now or ever again.

"I don't want to be kissed by fire, My King."

She was going to convince the North to stand behind him, The Vale, and the Riverlands, and they would place him on the throne. It was the only way, but she was--she was too close to him now, and there was nothing but her. Walls, castle, dragons, armies, godswood, it could not distract him from her eyes, that smile. 

"Jon," she was calling him back to the moment, "I want to be kissed by a wolf."

What she meant did not immediately make sense to him, and then it suddenly did when Sansa's nose brushed against his skin, her lips pressing to his.

Jon may not have been able to understand Sansa before, but he was not at all a slow man, so he quickly caught up with her. But then she needed to breath, and was pressing on his chest to remind him, and when they broke apart, he remembered that he required air as well. 

"I was meant to be a Queen to the Dragon's Heir. I never would have guessed that it was you."

" _Sansa_."

She laughed, a sound so unfamiliar it broke his heart that he could not recognize it. Deeper than her girlish giggles, softer than any furs she had sewn onto his cloak. It was a sound he wanted to pull from the air and drink. 

Her fingers had worked through his hair in a very distracting way, "Jon, you will have to remember how to say a word other than my name if you are to rule."

But what he could say besides her name? The skies were darkening every day, soon there would be nothing but blackness, no matter the hour, but Sansa, with her, the future was not winter, but spring. He could see the sky in her Tully blue eyes, the color of flowers in her pink cheeks, and hope, her voice filled the air with hope. He did not need other words, for she was everything. Her name summoned forgiveness, a light in the darkness to follow, the will to go forward.

" _Sansa_." He said again, and then neither spoke, for Jon Snow forgot every word, even that one, for quite some time. 

 


End file.
